Lost Souls
by Maverly
Summary: Ever wonder about those Nuns who give out the bread and coffee during the Carryin' the Banner scene? I sure have. I'm awful at summaries...please Read n' Review!
1. Default Chapter

It was the same thing every day: handing out stale bread and lukewarm coffee to a crowd of bitter, pinched facessome so dirty and expressionless that they barely looked human. It wasn't easy, this job forced upon me by Mother Superior, surely as some kind of cruel joke. Didn't she realize? Didn't that wrinkled old battle ax understand that every morning I do this, every chunk of bread I hand out and cup of coffee I offer, gnaws away at my sorry excuse for a soul, little by little?

In each and every dirt streaked face I can see my past staring back at me, with those hollow eyes that come with the territory; hollow eyes I still haven't been able to get rid of. It's hard to forget such a miserable life.

But that doesn't mean I don't try.

I spent much of my childhood wreaking havoc on the citizens of Brooklyn. My parents were a couple of drunks, barely remembering they even had a daughter unless they caught me doing something 'wrong'. Then they'd slap me around some until they got bored, or too sober. Aside from those sporadic spurts of brutal discipline, though, I was free. Fully responsible for my life at the age of six.

I was without parents, maybe, but I certainly wasn't without friends. Children just like me swarmed the streets, children whose parents didn't bother with them, or simply didn't exist at all. We were an army of hollow cheeked, bruise covered vagabonds, and our commander was a boy by the name of Jimmy Conlon. To us, Jimmy could walk on water. He was our savior, our white knight. When someone was sick, or hungry, or beaten up real bad, Jimmy Conlon always knew how to make things right again, and he never asked for nothing in return. When he walked down the street, a pile of newspapers on his shoulder, the street kids would stop and stare. The brave ones would say hello, and Jimmy would always toss them an easy grin.

His younger brother, Pete, had the same smile, except his had a wicked flavor to it. Despite that, Pete wasn't so bad (though God knows he wanted people to think otherwise). He was, after all, the one who saved me.

He was my best friend.

When both my parents were suddenly killed in a factory fire a week after my seventh birthday, nothing much changed. At first. But when a toothless old landlord came banging into the apartment I still called home demanding rent money, I found myself suddenly homeless. Parentless had been one thing. I could handle parentless. With no roof over my head, things were different. Bad different. 'Home' was a few empty milk crates stacked in a deserted alleyway.

That was how Pete Conlon found me: starving and feverish as I huddled in my palace of garbage.

A sucker for strays, Pete dragged me to the apartment he shared with his mother and brother. It was there, under the doting tutelage of a daughter-starved Theresa Conlon, that I slowly recovered. And from the moment I opened my eyes and saw Pete's round face peering down at me, light eyes filled with worry, I knew how lucky I was.

From that moment on, Pete and me were inseparable. Like two peas in a pod, Theresa used to call us. Double Trouble.

"Ouch!" I growled as a hefty handful of snow hit my shoulder. "Pete, I know that was you. Where are ya?" I was thirteen years old, a freckle-faced tomboy trying desperately to discover where the snowball hurling sniper was hidden as I trudged home from a long, cold day of trying to sell newspapers (_trying _being the key word there). Standing in the center of the narrow alley, I scanned the rooftops that rose on either side of me, seeking out the familiar figure. "Pete! Don't be a coward, ya bum. Come out here and face me like a man!"

Suddenly, I was tackled from behind. Tumbling into a nearby snow bank, I let out a screech of surprise. As I wiped snow away from my eyes, a blurry picture came into focus. Pete was standing over me, grinning. His aqua eyes sparkled in the pale winter light. "Oh jeez, is that you, Double? I t'ought it was someone else. Sorry." The sarcasm in his voice couldn't be missed.

I cringed slightly at the old nickname, a nickname that had suddenly taken on new meaning as I had recently sprouted a rather ample (and terribly unwelcome) chest. Pete reached over to hoist me out of the snowdrift and I thanked him with a fistful of snow down his collar.

"Hey," he yelped, shaking himself like a wet dog, "that's cold!"

"Stop whining', Trouble. A little snow never hurt no one."

Pete's response was a scathing glare in my direction, which I had become a pro at shrugging off. Other people did funny things when Pete glared at them, and I could never understand their sudden nervousness, their sweating, their stuttered words. I laughed outrightly at those stupid eyes of his, eyes that Pete once proudly confided to me he believed were his best feature. I laughed at that admission, too, and that was when Pete had stopped telling me such secret things.

He stood there muttering curses and I sauntered off toward home. A moment later he was by my side, apparently packing off his frustration for another day. "Sell much today?" Always the same question. Pete was practicing for when he assumed Jimmy's position of power, which, from the looks of the engagement ring on Jimmy's girlfriend's finger, was coming up fast.

"Nah," I responded, "no one was out. Too cold." He nodded in agreement as we climbed the stairs to the Conlon's fifth floor apartment.

"Hey," he said abruptly, his hand stopping mine as I reached for the doorknob, "we're going out tonight, to celebrate Mikey Di Salvo's birthday. You're comin', right?"

I rolled my eyes at the mention of yet another boys night out. As one of the few girls who sold newspapers in Brooklyn, I was an honorary member of the boy's club, a status that I intermittently loved and hated with equal vengeance. The only other woman in my life was Theresa, and she was pretty much my mother. My world was sorta a lonely one, with no other girls to giggle and whisper with, commiserating on the intimacies of teenage life.

"I guess."

Pete flashed a charming grin in my direction as he went to open the door. "Good."

I followed him inside, already regretting that I had said yes so easily. But this was Pete, and I had a hard time saying anything but yes to Pete. The simple "no" always stuck fast in my throat, and before I could recover he was smiling and nodding and going on his merry way. I never said no to Pete Conlon, and sometimes I hated myself for that.

We arrive at Harrigan's Pub just as it was beginning to snow for the third time that week. I groaned loudly at the sight of the first flake. Already the city was buried under a thick, slushy blanket of the stuff. Expertly ignoring my muttered curses to the weather, Pete pulled me inside. The party, after all, was waiting for him.

The room was wide and dark, with flickering gas lamps lining the rough wooden walls. Round tables appear haphazardly around the room, each one filled with the huddled figures of men and boys clutching mugs of cheap beer. A long, crowded bar took up the back wall. I glanced around, slowly realizing that my arrival had warranted a great number of leering stares pointed in my direction. My stomach lurched. I had forgotten what kind of place Harrigan's turned into after the sun set. I stepped closer to Pete without thinking, and he instinctively closed his hand around my owna gesture of brotherly protection. My heart slowed down some in my chest.

Slowly we made our way to a wild crowd in the back corner: three tables shoved together, packed with boys of various ages shouting and hooting and hollering at the top of their lungs. As we drew closer, a tall young man leapt to his feet, pushed his way free of the mess, and strode over to us. All eyes were on Jimmy Conlon as he did so, and as he bent to kiss me on the cheek, you could practically hear the gears of the Brooklyn gossip mill clanking.

"Rose! I didn't think you'd come!"

I couldn't help but grin up at him. "What, and miss the chance to see you? 'Sides, what's a party without Rosie Nolan?"

Jimmy laughed and pulled me over to sit near him as Pete rolled his eyes at my cocky words, words that he knew were nothing more than was a well-forged front. But Pete was not entirely inhuman. He kept his mouth shut and settled in a chair, letting me have my fun pretending that I was arrogant and brave, like him.

The boys that surrounded the table all shouted greetings at me, and I shouted back over the din of the pub, my face stretched into a smile. A few were familiar, but most foreign. The Brooklyn newsboys were growing at an unprecedented rate, no thanks to the Conlon boys and their equally growing reputation. A glass of liquor was pushed in my direction, and I consider it for a moment before picking it up and taking a gulp.

I was never much of a drinker. My parents taught me at least one lesson before they died. But then, it _was_ a celebration, and those were few and far between in the lives of street-rats like us. So I fought down another swallow and raised my glass to Mikey DiSalvo, a dark-eyed, dark-  
haired Italian fresh off the boat from Naples that Jimmy had (to no one's surprise) taken under his wing.

Feeling eyes on me, I turned to find Pete staring intently, a puzzled expression twisting his face. I giggled and threw a shrug at him, the alcohol and the fiddle music that had been struck up making me do such silly things as _giggle_. "What's that look for? Don't think I can handle it, Conlon?"

He echoed my movement, lifting his shoulders. "Never said ya couldn't." I expected him to smile and was surprised when no such expression graced his face. One of his boys slapped him heartily on the back, having played audience to our entire exchange.

"Let 'er go! Rose's a big girl. She'll be fine, Spot!" I wrinkled my nose at this diminutive and signaled for another drink.

Jimmy and I were the only ones who called him Pete anymore.

Things started to get blurry after that, like an impressionist painting where all the figures seem to melt into one another, no clear outlines. I remember Mikey pulling me into his lap and whispering sweet-sounding Italian words into my ear that made my cheeks go pink and tingles crawl into my belly. I remember how mad I got at Pete, who seemed to be having a hard time keeping his disapproving eyes off of us as he sat hunched at a nearby table, arms laced over his chest while one of his boys tried to entertain him with the latest gossip. Jimmy was twirling his girl, Marie, around the dance floor, and I remember thinking how happy they looked, how perfect, like the figures in a music box, spinning and spinning and spinning...

And then, all of a sudden, I was outside. Mikey was standing far to close for my liking, his hands tight on my waist and his hot breath on my face, reeking of alcohol. When he tried to kiss me, my knee jerked up automatically to connect with his groin, and he hobbled off, leaving a string of hackneyed English curses trailing in the air behind him.

I did a little jig of victory in the dark alley, but my feet slowed as the realization that I was all alone slid into my consciousness, slow and thick as honey. Where was Pete? Or Jimmy? I had not been without them since I was seven years old. Finding myself suddenly alone, I panicked.

The fact that I was fall-down drunk certainly didn't help the situation. Every time I took a few steps the ground lurched and wobbled under my feet, as if I was standing on an ill-made raft in the middle of the turbulent ocean. The snow had turned into freezing rain and the wind had picked up, spitting the precipitation into my eyes, stinging my face like tiny needles. The mouth of the alley was so close, beckoning me, teasing me. Six more steps, I begged my numb and trembling legs, six more and then the street and then surely someone will see me. The Conlon boys would find me, and Jimmy would scoop me up and take me home, because he was Jimmy Conlon and that was what he did, rescue people. And then Theresa would yell at her sons for being irresponsible idiots, for forgetting that I was _not_ a boy yet again, and that I had to live by _different_ rules. And I'd be tucked into my warm bed with my warm blankets all snug around me and Pete's warm body next to me, and I'd sleep forever. Six more steps . . .

On the third, my foot hit a patch of ice and I fell, my head meeting the brick wall that was next to me with a sickening crack.

I opened my eyes to behold two portly policemen standing over me, arguing with one another. It was still snowing, but the flakes were less angry now, tempered by a weak sun fighting through the gray clouds.

"She's dead, Paddy! Lookit 'er, for the love of Christ. Lips as blue as me dear mothers' eyes. Let's just get the body outta here, before it attracts attention."

The younger of the two, his face adorned with an auburn handlebar moustache, squinted down at me. "I ain't so sure, Bill. I ain't sure. Touch 'er, will ya?"

"Ooh no. I ain't doin' nothin'of the sort. _You_ touch 'er."

The one called Paddythe younger onesighed heavily. "_Fine,_" he muttered. Reaching down, he extended a pudgy finger, which he then used to unceremoniously jab me with, right in the ribs. I moved ever so slightly, much too cold to do anything else.

"See?" Paddy said triumphantly to his frowning partner, "told you she wasn't dead."

"Well by God, she sure is close to it. What are ya thinkin' we do with 'er?"

The younger officer straightened up and peered around for a moment before an enlightened look graced his face. He bent down again to hoist me up, tossing me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. His partner looked at him quizzically. "Where are ya takin' 'er?"

"Right there," announced Paddy. With a free hand, he pointed to a hulking building across the street. I watched this scene from upside-down with half-open eyes and a half-  
functioning mind.

The other cop grinned as his eyes followed the finger. "Why, Paddy, you're a bleedin' genius. I didn't even realize where we was."


	2. 2

_A/N: So! Part two...I hope the format on this sucker is better than part one. That was wicked frustrating. A few lil notes for my loverly reviewers:_

_**Allie:**I'mglad you like it! ButI think I confused you. Jimmy is Spot's (Pete's) older brother.Sorry if I was unclear...I have the bad habit of assuming if -I- know what's going on, everyone else does to. The nuns that we see in the movie -are- old...but in myover-active imagination, there is a convent of nuns in Brooklyn that do the same thing with the newsies there, and that's where Rose is at. The R rating is for future chapters...don't fret, things will getjuicy. _

_**Tuesday:**I secretly hate you too, because Rush is so freakingbrilliant. So i suppose we're equal now.Love hearing from you!_

_**Bitter:**My pusher! (that sounds likeyou're my drug-dealer, ha). but you know what imean. I promised an update today, and look at me! I"m updating! Thanks for the encouragement dearie._

_**Sprints 100: **I always gets excited when people I don't know review my fics, cause I know they weren't doing their friend-ly duty. Glad you think my idea is clever...I have this bad habit of catching random things in the movie and sort of morphing them into elaborate storylines. Heh. Bad habit._

_Without further blabbing...here's duo. I love reviews, honestly, they really jazz me up. :)_

* * *

The next time I woke up I was lying in a bed in a large room with spotless white walls and tall, arched windows. It was bright, blindingly so, and my eyes ached if I kept them open to long. 

"Here now, child, are you awake then? Open up those eyes and look at me."

A gentle, motherly voice caressed my ears from somewhere next to my bed. Reluctantly I opened my eyes wider. "Ah, yes, there we go. Lovely. How are you feeling?" The woman's black and white habit was all I saw.

A nun.

It took me a few tries to finally croak out a few choice words, words that made the woman beside me blush pink as a rose. She tipped a spoonful of broth into my mouth, no doubt to shut me up.

"Where am I?" The soup nearly scalded my throat, but I was determined to find out what exactly was going on. The nun smiled down at me.

"Oh, dear, you're in the Sisters of Mercy Orphanage."

"What?" I sputtered, "How the hell did I get here?"

The nun looked mildly alarmed. "You don't remember?"

If I could have, I would've reached up and smacked the insipid old bat. But my arms felt like lead when I tried to lift them. "No," I spat with as much sarcasm as I could muster, "I don't."

"A very kind pair of policemen brought you in about two weeks ago. They said they found you in an alleyway." She nodded gravely. "You were almost dead when you first arrived. Frozen solid, practically. And then you go and catch pneumonia on top of everything else... We almost lost you. Tell me, what were you doing outside at night, all alone, during the worst blizzard of the year?"

My head fell back on the pillow as memories wash over me like a tidal wave. Mikey's birthday. Harrigan's Pub.

Pete Conlon deserting me when I needed him most.

* * *

I was sitting propped up in bed, examining my trio of newly blue fingertips when Sister Mary Louise came bustling into the infirmary and threw open the curtains, allowing winter sunlight to flood the room. I scowled at the now-familiar profile: long black robes that whispered when she walked, a wrinkled, round face framed by more black, crowned by a white rectangle. In her hands was a steaming bowl of broth, which she set down slowly on the table nearby before turning to acknowledge me. 

"Will this ever go away? And this, too?" I asked before she could open her mouth, touching the edge of my ear, because that had turned black-ish blue, too. Sister Mary Louise frowned at me.

"No, child. I've already told you. Frostbite is permanent," she said, her tone abrupt and somewhat harsh, a far cry from her usual maternal nature. All too quickly I realized why that was. "Well, Come on then. Where are those clothes I brought you?"

I rolled my eyes, recalling the dowdy graypinafore and whiteblouseshe had instructed me to dress in hours earlier. "Why can't I wear my own clothes?"

"Because," she said matter-of-factly, "your clothes were filthy rags. And they were soaking wet when you came in, so we had to take them off. We threw them away."

I sincerely doubted that. The Sisters of Mercy never threw anything away.

As I contemplated why exactly that was (because from the sparkling infirmary and soft sheets it seemed like the Sisters were certainly not lacking funds), Sister Mary Louise dug under my bed for the missing outfit. After a moment she reappeared, tossing a bundle of clothing on my lap. I looked at her, fingering the rough material. "Why do I have to get dressed?"

"Mother Superior wants to see you," she announced, pulling the blankets off of me and slipping my nightgown over my head.

I shivered slightly, feeling exposed in only my underclothes. "She does? Why?"

"I don't know, dear. Perhaps she is sick of you taking up space in this infirmary."

"So then let me go home. I won't take up no more of your space." This had been my request for weeks. A request that had fallen on deaf ears.

"Any." Sister was to busy buttoning my shirt buttons to look at me. I suddenly felt very much like an infant.

"Huh?"

"It's _any_ more space, not '_no _more space'. Honestly. Where did you learn such atrocious English?" She looked at me sternly, and I glared right back. After a moment of this silent battle, she sighed, knowing I wouldn't relent until the question was answered. "You can't go home, child, because you don't have a home to go to."

"Yes I do!"

"Rose," she said with an exasperated sigh. "We've checked. Your parents are dead, and your closest living relatives are in Chicago, and frankly, they were not very interested in taking in a child they didn't even know existed until now. You are our responsibility now."

"But Theresa Con—"

"Rose Nolan, stop this nonsense at once. Act your age."

A long string of very unladylike words were on the tip of my tongue, but I was distracted when Sister Mary Louise began to yank my hair back in a bun. "Ouch!" I shrieked, shoving her hands away, "I can do it _myself_."

With another grim look she obliged to this demand and backed away, turning instead to retrieve a pale pink ribbon that was hidden in one of the pockets of her robes. With a gentle touch, she tied it in my hair. "There. We want to look nice for Mother Superior, don't we?"

I made a face and scooted off the bed, slipping my stockinged feet into a pair of boots that were two sizes to big for me. Another lovely gift from the Sisters of Mercy.

"She ain't the bloody queen 'a England," I muttered as Sister Mary Louise began to lead me down a long hallway.

The nun was to busy murmuring prayers for my salvation to hear me.

**

* * *

**

Mother Superior's office was a large room, with dark, expensive looking wood paneling and a massive fireplace on the right wall. A thick carpet covered the floor, and a hulking desk faced me, it's surface covered with papers. I was staring, entranced, at the roaring fire that crackled to my right when I heard a door open and shut softly. Raising my eyes to the desk, I discovered that a woman was now sitting behind it, studying me with hard gray eyes that glinted behind half-moon spectacles. Like all the other women I had seen since I had gotten out of bed she was dressed in a black nun's habit, yet unlike her companions her dark uniform seemed to make her larger than life, huge and intimidating as she sat behind her fancy desk. An involuntary shudder racked my thin body, and for a moment we sat in silence, appraising one another with cold gazes.

"So you are the infamous Ms. Nolan I've been hearing so much about."

I immediately decided that I would not let her frighten me. "I dunno who _you've_ been talkin' to, Mrs…ah…Superior. But I ain't infamous. I don't even know what that means." I smiled slyly as I caught an expression of shock flicker across her wrinkled face. She was obviously not used to people–children, especially–talking back to her.

But after an instant the expression was gone, and her eyes, like chips of steel, bored into me. "You will address me as Mother Superior, Ms. Nolan. And I don't believe I have given you permission to speak yet, so do not interrupt me again."

Now I was the one caught off guard. Sitting limply in my chair, my mouth hung ajar. The monster behind the desk seemed appeased by this.

"Much better. But close your mouth, child. It is rude, not to mention unflattering. You look like you belong on a Fishwife's cart."

My mouth snapped shut. She continued, a smile that had no hint of warmth to it twisting her lips. "I've called you in this afternoon because I wanted to talk to you about your future. Sister Mary Louise has informed me of your…current situation." she paused to rifle through a few papers on her desk. "Parents deceased, no relatives in the city, or even nearby, to take you in. Such a pity. There are so many orphans in the city these days."

I began to say something, but Mother Superior barreled right along like a locomotive, ignoring me altogether. She looked up at me suddenly, announcing, "it would be a blemish on myCatholicconscience if I were to simply release a young, helpless girl such as yourself back into those filthy, sin-filled streets."

I held my breath. I knew what was coming next. An orphanage stay for me until age eighteen. It might as well have been a death-sentence. My fingers clutched the arms of my chair as if it was a life preserver.

"So in order to save your dear soul from certain demise, I have made a decision."

I looked at her suspiciously. "Decision?"

She eyed me the way one might have contemplated a very annoying, very small insect. "Yes. Instead of remaining in the orphanage, you will be moved to the Convent."

I was utterly confused. "The convent? Why?"

"The convent is the only proper place for a young woman training to be a Bride of Christ to live."

My heart was pounding in my ears, and for a moment I tried to convince myself that I had heard her wrong. "I don't—I don't understand."

"What is there to not understand, Ms. Nolan? Records show you to be a properly baptized Catholic…your parents did _that_ much, at least, before dying. From this day on consider yourself in training to be a Sister. A truly wonderful way to live your life." Mother Superior sat back in her chair, folding her hands across her lap and waited for my reaction with a sanctimonious smile.

The room began to spin before my eyes, and before I could help myself, I threw up all over Mother Superior's beautiful forest green carpet.

* * *

"And here is your room, Rose." 

It was a week after my disastrous meeting with Mother Superior, and I was standing in the doorway of a low-ceilinged room, my eyes still a bit puffy and red from the temper-tantrum I had thrown earlier that day. Rose Nolan would not go down with a fight, no sir. I made sure the Sisters knew that this decision was a bad one on their part. A very bad one.

The room was as bare and uninviting as a prison cell. There were two large windows taking up the wall across from the doorway, a rather large and imposing crucifix hanging on the wall to my left, and three beds lined up like obedient soldiers against the right hand wall. I eyed them cautiously.

"Why are there three beds?"

My guide peered at me from out from under her habit. "Mother Superior didn't tell you that you had roommates?"

Shaking my head, I sighed in disgust and threw myself on the nearest bed. "No. I bet the two sisters had to do somethin' pretty awful to get stuck with me." This was getting better by the minute. My gaze wandered to the hulking cross adorning the wall. It was huge and dark and gruesomely detailed.

"Actually, they're not sisters. They're Novices. Two other girls around your age who are training for the Sisterhood."

"Wonderful. We can be just the _best_ of friends."

The sister pursed her lips at my sarcasm and made a motion to leave. "They're out helping the Sisters with the orphans, I'd imagine. They'll be here shortly." She started to retreat from the room, then seemed to change her mind, leaning against the doorjamb. Her face was full of pity as she gazed at me.

"Try and be nice, Rose. It can only help." And with that she was gone. I could hear her rosary beads clinking as she made her way down the hallway.

Alone in the room, I found it impossible not to stare at that mammoth cross that was sitting up on the wall. Like a magnet it drew my eyes, and for awhile I found myself having quite a staring contest with Jesus Christ.

But the room was warm and the bed comfortable, and soon I was finding it hard to keep my eyes open; with a defeated sigh I snuggled down into the covers and fell into a dreamless sleep.

"Hey!" Someone was tapping me hard on the shoulder. "Wake up, will ya?" I opened my eyes and sent my best glare out into the dim room, toward whoever had the nerve to disrupt my sleep. Above me stood a girl, her sillouhette tall and slim in the weak light. I must have had slept for hours; the sky outside the window was a deep, dark blue, punctured every so often with twinkling, far away stars.

The girl kept poking me, and I quickly tired of this and smacked her hand away. "Relax, will ya? Jesus Christ."

She stepped back, lacing her arms across her chest. "That's _my_ bed you're sleeping on." She paused, appraising me with dark eyes a bit more carefully. "You're the new girl?"

I sat up slowly, shoving hair out of my eyes. "Yeah. Rose..."

A new figure stepped out from the shadows, interrupting me. "Nolan, isn't it? Sister Bernadette told us you'd be coming." This girl, petite withpale blue eyes, turned to light a candle that was sitting on a short bedside table nearby.

"Um, yeah. That's me. What's your name?" I focused my questions on the girl by the candle. She seemed a tad more friendly than her scowling partner who's bed I had stolen, and the watery light from the candle had illuminated a kind face, one with a hint of a smile at her lips.

"I'm Rebecca, but you can call me Becky," she said, offering a hand. I took it slowly. One could never be too cautious with good-mannered people.

"And your friend?" I asked, tossing my head toward the sulking girl, who had since taken to leaning against the wall and shooting daggers with her dark eyes in my direction. "What's 'er name?"

"To the likes of you it's Hades," she spat, pushing herself off the wall and stalking over to stand next to Becky, the glare still on full-blast.

"Hades, huh? That's quite a name for a soon-to-be Nun, ain't it?"

Becky quickly intercepted my question. "It's not _really_ Hades. Obviously. Her Christian name is Gabriel. Like the angel." She smiled again, an expression overwhelmed somewhat by the frown Hades' had going behind her.

"The angel, huh? Sure, ok." I rolled my eyes and got up off the bed. "Well, _Hades,_ please _forgive _me for takin' a nap on your bed. You seem like the type of girl who's a little um…particular 'bout her space."

Before Hades could get out a retort, a bell sounded from somewhere downstairs. Her biting return interrupted, she settled with shoving me back onto the bed as she brushed past me and out the door. Once she'd gone, Becky reached down to help me back up, grinning.

"Oh Rose, you have _no_ idea."

The hallway was as silent as a tomb as we made our way toward the staircase, and Becky looked nervous. "Oh, _rats_. Now we're late. It'll mean two weeks of kitchen duty, at least."

"Late…to dinner, you mean?" If I was going to live here, I figured I might as well learn the schedule. Rules would come later, if at all.

She nodded, saying, "dinner's every evening at five-thirty, sharp. Breakfast is served at eight o'clock, lunch at noon. All meals are taken in a vow of silence. Out of respect."

"Respect?" As we rounded the corner I lowered my voice a little, whispering, "for what?"

Becky paused to look back at me as we approached the dining room. "For—" she stopped, considering the question again. "Well I guess I've never really thought to ask." With an easy smile and an accepting shrug, she ducked into the large, silent room, and I followed suit.

The long table was already filled with Sisters, bent intently over their suppers, with Mother Superior at the head, taking note of my late entrance with angry, disdainful eyes.

* * *

Life in the Convent of the Sisters of Mercy wasn't all that bad, compared to what my life could have been like. I was guaranteed three good meals a day, a warm bed, clean clothes, and a roof over my head. But in gaining all these things I lost something more important to me than anything else: my freedom. 

I was a prisoner, and Mother Superior was a warden comparable to no other. The woman ruled with an iron fist and a divine right, and no one dared to challenge her.

My days drifted by in a dull, tedious haze, and it didn't take long for me to realize what a bad choice it was, making Mother Superior my enemy. She seemed to quickly adhere to the belief that she could instill obedience and piety in me by assigning me the most thankless and tiresome of jobs, from mending clothing for the orphans to the ever popular kitchen duty, all in the name of saving my soul and improving my conscience. I imagine I spent more time in that kitchen peeling potatoes and washing dishes then any other place in that awful convent.

The worst part was that it seemed like Hades, my less-than-welcoming roommate, and Mother Superior were in cahoots with one another. One wrong step, one tiny little curse word, and there went Hades scurrying off to Mother Superior's sumptuous office, snitching on me like doing so would unlock the gates of heaven for her.

At least Becky was my friend, although I was wary even of her, despite her kind nature. My record with friends was not very outstanding, after all. Needless to say, I kept mostly to myself. And it didn't take me long to realize that doing such was not very amusing. Not very amusing at all.

I had been at the convent for four years.

Four years without stepping foot outside those rusting iron gates that surrounded the property.Four years without seeing Pete, or Jimmy, or even Theresa Conlon.

I was seventeen. Practically a grown woman. That was when Mother Superior thought up a new and inventive torture for me.

It had taken me about three months to figure out the process of becoming a full, professed nun, and I was relieved at the length of it, until it dawned on me that I didn't need to be a full professed Nun to be miserable.

The days, heavy with monotony, went in a blur. Everything was in grey-scale; the charcoal of the Orphanage uniform that I wore while attending classes as a Postulant, the colorless faces of the children who sat around me, blank eyed and terrified of the priests who literally beat our education into us. The somber black dress and veil that indicated my Novice status. The gray eyes of Mother Superior, glinting like steel blades as she assigned more menial tasks to encourage my obedience, to wear down my stubborn willpower. My world was devoid of color, restricted to the Convent and it's meager property, where it seemed to me like even the grass and garden vegetables were painted in watercolor, faded and dull and lifeless.

I was a Novice still when Mother Superior assigned me a new and creative punishment. She called it a "duty", but I knew better. There was no way she could hide it, no matter what label she stuck on it. To the likes of me, it was pure, unabashed, agonizing punishment.


	3. 3

_A/N: Thank Bittah, not me, for making part 3 appear so freaking soon after part 2. She's a pain in my ass. And I say that in the best way possible, of course. :) I don't really have time to do individual SO's, so i'll just say thank you to alllll my reviewers, ya'll don't know how much your little notes mean to me! that's a hint to leave me more!_

* * *

And that was how I found myself, every morning, standing in that stupid cart with Sister Agnes and sister Clarence , handing out bread and coffee even _I _wouldn't touch to these street kids, who took it like it was a gourmet meal. It tore me up inside, this constant confrontation with my not-so-distant past. The small ones especially made my throat tight. In every single little girl I saw myself, minus about ten years.

Sometimes the other Sisters asked why my eyes went all puffy and red when we did these morning excursions.

Allergies, I told them. So much dust in the air these days. I would never allow anyone to know how much they hurt me, those trips. Never in a million years.

I had been executing this duty for about three weeks when something—or rather, someone—caught my eye.

It was Jimmy Conlon.

Well, so I thought at first. Then I realized the age was all wrong. Jimmy must have been ancient by now—twenty-three, or something near that. And this boy, he was young. Younger then me, at least.

Maybe he was about thirteen. Fourteen, at the most, but that didn't stop him from looking exactly like Jimmy—from what I could remember. You'd have been surprised at what four years of constant suffering and solitude did to my state of mind, how the pain and the sorrow and the tedium of Convent life slowly beat all the happy memories, all the toughness and obstinance that I was so proud to possess, back into the cobwebbed corners of my head. The years had changed me, and I felt as if I was sitting helpless and bound in a chair, watching this new girl I had become, this girl who no longer had the energy nor the hope to fight the system as much as her spirit wanted her to.

The boy that had caught my eye had a round face and shaggy chocolate-colored hair that fell into smiling blue eyes. His lips curled into a haughty smirk, so reminiscent of the Conlon boys that it took my breath away, tugging up the corner of his mouth wickedly. Thirteen years old and already a lady-killer.

He would come to my cart just about every morning, flashing that grin and charming two (rather than the allowed one) chunk of bread out of my whicker basket. Then he'd hang around the street corner for awhile, shooting the breeze with his friends, chomping away at the cardboard bread and sucking down the watery coffee, until in the distance the newspaper distribution center bell tolled and he scampered off like a squirrel toward the noise. So he was a newsie, I realized, like so many other street kids. Like I used to be.

I watched this all with a painful, tight feeling in my chest, a feeling that made it hard to breath. What I would've given to step off that cart, to shed that long dark dress, that heavy rosary looped around my wrist like an iron chain. All the money in all the world wasn't worth the price I would pay.

As it happened, I didn't need to pay any money. Not one cent. It was a couple of thugs who turned out to be my ticket to freedom, one sunny, warm August morning.

* * *

My little boy, my little Jimmy-who-wasn't, was in a bit of trouble, or so it appeared from my perch on the cart. A threatening knot of three older boys were advancing upon him, and I could hear their deep voices shouting threats to the boy, who was attempting to look brave a few feet away. I could see in the way he held himself, in the way he lifted his chin and clenched his fists, that he wouldn't run. Not in a million years. Just like the Conlon boys would have done. 

I watched this all, holding my breath. The cup of coffee in my hand was held suspended over the crowd of kids, who were gazing up at it like baby birds, hands outstretched. Sisters' Clarence and Agnes didn't seem to notice the impending violence about to take place nearby.

Typical.

The boys were drawing their weapons when a shout erupted from a nearby alley, and a lanky young man came swaggering over to them, slingshot in hand. The thugs' faces turned the color of the old bread I was holding. Little Jimmy's grin was as wide as the Mississippi.

'Ey!" The hero was advancing quickly toward the group of boys, who were trying their best to look innocent. It was a sorry act, to be honest. They still clutched their brass knuckles and knives in their fists. "What d'ya think your doin'?"

Rather then answering, the villains fled, disappearing down the street, the laugher of the crowd nipping at their heels. The older boy cuffed Little Jimmy's chin in a brotherly gesture as the pair strolled over to my cart. A throng was quickly forming around them, each face full of admiration and awe. This boy, obviously, was something special. Someone with power. He grinned up and me, and my heart stopped beating.

"Good Sisters, I'll need yer best cup 'a coffee for me cousin Charlie here, if ya please." Pete Conlon held out his hand as his gaze swept over the three women standing above him.

The cup I had clenched in my fingers went crashing to the ground with a metallic, harsh clatter.

* * *

"Oh Rose, this city is huge. You know that. It could have been anyone." 

I sat back against my bed with a sigh, Becky hovering over me like a concerned mother. "No, you don't understand. It was him, Beck. It was Pete. I'd bet money on it."

Becky made a small noise of disdain. "Gambling is a sin."

I rolled my eyes. "It's just an expression, for Christ's sake." She winced again, but I ignored her. "Look, you have to help me. What do I do?"

Hades, who had thankfully been keeping herself out of the conversation up until that moment, sniffed slightly and peered up from her sewing to glare at me. "It's a lost cause, if ya ask me.

I sent a scathing glare in her direction. "I _didn't_ ask you."

"He'll never come to that cart again," she continued as if I hadn't said anything, "that was your one chance, and you lost it. Let it slip right through your fingers." She sighed, a mockingly sympathetic tone affecting her words. "What a shame. Poor Rose, all alone once again."

I was well on my way to getting to my feet to belt her, but Becky put her hand on my shoulder, a warning look accompanying the gesture. The punishment for fighting, I had already found out, was particularly nasty. "At least I don't have a family that _hates_ me so much they ship me off to a _convent_!" I spat to Hades, who then turned pink to the tips of her ears with anger.

"You're right, you worthless, rude little street rat. You don't have a family _at all!"_ She threw her mending at me and stood up in a huff.

Becky, ever the peacemaker, stepped between us just in time. "Girls! Please, stop. I don't want to be the one to explain to Mother Superior _again_ why the two of you have matching black-eyes…as fun as that was the first few times."

We both complied, our love for Becky and her kind manner triumphing over other, less pleasant emotions. Poor Becky. The only one out of our trio who actually _wanted_ to become a nun. Why, exactly, was beyond me but…she had a good soul. She was cut out for the job.

Hades retreated to the far side of the room in angry silence, and I collapsed back onto the bed, hugging my knees to my chest. "Becky, I can't just forget about this. It was Pete. _Pete_, Beck. I have to talk to him—or at least see him again. God, I have to do _something_."

Becky sat down beside me, stroking my hair. "Okay. So you want to do something. But what? I mean, you could talk to him, sure. But what'll that lead to?" She paused, letting the question sink in. "_Nothing,_" Becky finally continued, "because you can't leave this place. You know that, Rose. As much as you'd like to ignore it."

I closed my eyes, chewing on my bottom lip. She was right, of course. When was Becky ever wrong? But to simply ignore the fact that I saw Pete again…and to let the chance of talking to him, asking him just _what_ happened that night just slip through my fingers like sand…

"No," I said, lifting up my head and looking at her. "I have to. I can't let it go, Becky. I just can't."

She looked at me in silence for a long time before sighing and getting to her feet. "Fine," she said. "But I refuse to help you on this one. You're on your own."

I grinned at her turned back. Becky would always help me. It was her nature.

* * *

The next few weeks of my task were executed, surprisingly, with a light heart. Mother Superior, I can sufficiently say, was stumped. I do believe it was the first time I had ever done anything in the convent without putting up a fight. 

Every morning I would stand like a soldier at attention on my humble cart, eyes darting around the streets around me, searching for Pete as a hawk sought out its prey. For weeks, this torture endured without so much as a hint of his return, and I had just about given up…until one day, like a miracle, he came strolling up to my cart again, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"Got a little better grip on those cups today, eh?" He said with a smirk, accepting the coffee I handed him with a stunned expression. I blinked at him.

"Huh?"

"Last time I was here you were quite a butterfingers, droppin' everythin' everywhere. Not to mention mute. So you -do- speak, huh?"

I finally found my voice, but it was shaky and unstable. "Oh. Oh right…with Jimmy." The name had rolled off my tongue out of habit. Pete narrowed his eyes at me.

"Jimmy, Sister?"

I froze. Jimmy? Had I said that out loud? Jesus, I think I had. Stammering, I shook my head. This was not going as planned, not at all. "I mean—your cousin. The little boy. And um—I'm not a Sister. Not by a long shot."

His bright blue eyes bore into me, and I couldn't help but stare back. My heart was jumping around my chest like a rabbit.

"Not a Nun, huh? You look...familar." His eyes darkened suddenly, forehead furrowing. "What's your name?"

I swallowed hard. It was now or never. "Rose," I said. It was barely a whisper. "Rose Nolan."

Pete's jaw went slack, eyes wide and blinking dumbly. "_Rose?_"

In one swift and graceful movement he seized my arm and yanked me off the cart. Sister Agnes and Sister Clarence, busy with the clamoring crowd of children eager to be fed, failed to notice my rather obvious descent. I silently thanked God I was paired with two of the most senile—not to mention blind and deaf—sisters in the convent.

Pete's face was inches from mine, his hand still tight on my arm. "Cut the bullshit. Tell me the truth. Who are you? And how the hell d'ya know about Rose Nolan?"

"Pete, please," I whispered, trying in vain to pry myself free of his vice-like grip, "I'm not lying. For Christ's sake."

"Rose Nolan is dead. She's_ been _dead." His voice was confident, assured, but he looked as if he had come face to face with a ghost.

"No! No, She's_I'm _not dead…Pete, I'm standing right here in front of you! See? I ain't a ghost. Flesh and blood! See? Alive and well." Grabbing his wrist, I put his palm to my face. He pulled it away like it had been burnt, shaking his head.

"No. _No_. You're...you're dead. Rose Nolan is dead."

A sudden noise from the cart made my head snap up. The sisters were packing up, getting ready to leave. Sister Clarence was gathering the reins of the two ancient mares that pulled us to our daily chore of charity. I cursed softly.

"Listen," I hissed to Pete, climbing back on the cart, "if you believe me–hell, even if you don't–you'll meet me back here. Tonight, at midnight." The words slipped out before I had even finished thinking them. Details would come later.

With a creak, the cart began to move, and Pete nodded. "Right on this corner!" He shouted as I retreated down the street. "Midnight sharp!"

Midnight sharp. I tilted my face up toward the sun and focused on the warmth, trying desperately to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach that was growing by the second. What had I been thinking? Spitting those absurd words out before my mind could process them. Midnight…and I would be locked in like a death row inmate in the cold gray building I called home.


	4. 4

"Becky," I hissed, one leg thrown over the windowsill, the other still back in my room, "Please, don't look at me like that—"

Becky crossed her arms over her chest, frowning at me through the darkness. She was a light sleeper—how had I forgotten that? Hades snored like a lumberjack and Becky would wake up at the drop of a pin. "What do you think you're doing, Rose? How did you get that window open? If anyone catches you…"

"They won't! Not if you keep quiet. I bribed one of the maid's and got the key. She's expecting it back tomorrow morning or else she's ratting me out." I carefully pulled my other leg over the windowsill, silently commending myself for the brilliant idea of stealing a pair of boys pants from the orphanage mending pile. Much more convenient for climbing in and out of windows than a dress, no doubt.

Hades rolled over in her bed, and my heart quickened a beat. "Please, Becky, go back to bed. Or, you know what, stay up and wait– I don't care. I won't be out for long."

With a resigned sigh, Becky sat down on her bed, hands clasped together. "I'll be waiting for you to get back," she whispered as I disappeared down the fire-escape, "be careful!"

I hadn't been outside at night for years, and the city was a different world. I practically ran to our designated meeting spot, the shadows morphing into menacing shapes and strange noises assaulting my ears. What had happened to that brave, fearless girl I'd used to be?

But then I guess that's what happens when you get locked up in a convent for a few of years. You sort of lose that edge, ya know?

The walk took longer than I thought, even with all that running, and by the time I got there I had convinced myself that Pete would have already come and gone. I sat down slowly on a deserted front stoop and sighed. Left alone again.

"Rose?" A sharp whisper made my head snap up. Pete was walking toward me, squinting through the dark. I stood up slowly. "Yeah, it's me…"

He stopped a few feet from me and took off his cap, then set to twisting it around in his hands. "I didn't think you'd make it."

I shrugged. "The Sister's are heavy sleepers."

"Yeah? Well, that makes thing's easier, I guess."

"Yeah."

Silence descended upon us like a fog, and after a few minutes of this Pete laughed uneasily. "This is um…strange, ya know? Talkin' to someone who up until a few hours ago I thought was dead…"

"Yeah," I said quietly, "but I'm not dead. Just...lost for awhile."

Pete cleared his throat. "Look, Rose, about that night..."

It took no more than that for me to snap.

"What, Pete, are you planning on _apologizing_ to me? You think you can just say you're sorry and everything will be okay? You...you _disappeared. _You _deserted_ me. Why did you do that to me, huh Pete? _Why?_" Four years worth of questions came flooding out of my mouth, and the burning behind my eyes threatened tears. I fought for my composure. I wasn't going to cry. Not in front of him, at least.

"Hey hey, hold on a second. I never _deserted_ you. It was an honest mistake. I was drunk. We just lost each other. I didn't know it would lead to…"

"To losing me forever? To me almost dying? Because that's what happened, ya know. I almost _died_." Now I was on a roll, cheeks flushed from frustration. Pete almost looked sorry. Almost. This was Pete Conlon, let's not forget.

"We looked for ya. Me an' Jimmy did. But the snow was comin' down real hard an—"

"Yeah," I interrupted sharply, "I know. I spent the night in it, remember?

Silence again. I glared steadily at Pete, who was glaring right back with eyes full of frustration and anger. Finally, he looked away, giving up. Apparently he had forgotten that his eyes, his menacing glare, had no effect on me. "Look," he finally muttered after clearing his throat and recollecting his pride, "don't be angry at me. It was an accident. We was all drunk and young and stupid…it could of happened to anyone, and it just happened to be you. I didn't lose ya on purpose, Rose. I'd never do that. You were like a sister to me."

I rubbed my fingers across my forehead, sighing shakily. A moment later I felt Pete's arms around me. He was whispering in my ear. "I don't wanna fight now that I finally found you again, okay?" I nodded into his chest. Things hadn't changed. I still couldn't say no to Pete, and it seemed like he knew it. He stepped away from me and smiled. "Good. Now, when are you going to see me again?"

I blinked. See him again? He might as well be asking for me to make straw into gold. "Um…Saturday night? Right here, at…ten o'clock?" Pete's smirk was making my head spin.

"Okay." He began to walk away from me, still smiling. "Don't you go and forget now, Rosie, okay? Don't stand me up."

I waved, grinning like the idiot I was, as he turned the corner. Stand him up? Never in a million years.

* * *

True to her word, Becky was sitting up in her bed staring into the darkness as I climbed silently back into my bedroom. Upon seeing me, she heaved a huge sigh—of relief, I think.

"I was convinced you were dead," she whispered as she hugged me tightly. "Did you see him?"

I nodded happily. "Oh Becky, he's exactly the same."

"That's good. Did you ask him about the night that you...and he..." She trailed off, looking at me expectantly. I shrugged.

"I did, and he said it was an accident. He said it could've happened to anyone. Which is true, ya know?" I busied myself with changing back into my nightgown. "I mean, it could've. It definitely could have."

Becky looked skeptical. "And that's it? You forgave him just like that?"

I moved back to my own bed, carefully concealing the stolen pants under my mattress and pulling my nightgown over my head. "Well…yeah. It's _Pete_." I said, as if that explained everything. Of course to me, it did.

Becky sighed softly, snuggling down under the covers. She was to nice to call me out for my idiocy, to be the one to take the blinders from my eyes. Becky would let me be, because for the first time since she had known me, she saw me truly _happy._ "Okay," was all she said, and then was silent for a few minutes, long enough for me to think she had fallen asleep, until she lifted herself up on one elbow and peered at me through the darkness. "Rose?"

I was nearly asleep myself. "Hm?"

"Are you going to leave?"

I opened my eyes. She sounded so... sad. "Leave?"

"The convent. Are you going to leave? For good, I mean?"

I laughed a little, and thought about it, and the words that filled the dark space between us surprised even me a bit. "Not for a bit, Becky. Not until I know what my choices are. Don't worry."

I shut my eyes again, and I could hear Becky settle back in bed. "Okay," she said softly, "good."

* * *

And just like that, he was back in my life.

As far as I was concerned, he was the _only_ thing in my life. He was all I thought about. Him, Jimmy, Theresa…my whole other world outside the convent.

By the time Saturday night rolled around, I had found something else to bribe the maid with, thankfully. I was worried there wouldn't be anything she might want. You'd be surprised how picky poor kids can be.

But two extra-shiny green marbles did the trick, and 9:45 on Saturday night found me once again half in, half out of the window, Becky standing close-by, shaking her head. "But it's so early…"

Hurriedly I rolled the rest of the way out onto the fire escape. "Everyone's been asleep for more'n half an hour. Becky, It'll be fine, ok? Trust me." With that I disappeared silently down the ladder, not bothering to say goodbye to poor Becky, who watched me go with a disapproving frown.

This time it was Pete who was waiting for me, leaning against the wall all suave and collected, a cigarette dangling between his lips. When he spotted me he pushed himself standing in one fluid, graceful motion. "Heya doll. You ready to go?"

Caught off guard, I blinked some. "Go where?"

He laughed, flicked the cigarette away into the street and grabbed my hand. "I wanna show you somethin'. C'mon."

* * *

There was a sign swinging above the building's green front door.

_Newsboys and Newsgirls Lodging House_

_Brooklyn, New York_

I stood there staring at it while Pete grinned next to me. "So, what'd ya think?"

"I... I think I'm kinda confused. You live here?"

He nodded, pulling the door open. "Well, yeah. It's only fitting for the leader of the Brooklyn newsies." A hint of pride colored his voice.

I smiled broadly as we stepped inside. "So you took Jimmy's place then. When did he get married?"

Pete paused to look at me, a strange expression on his face. "He…never got married."

"But his girl–Marie? He gave her a ring an' everything, remember? Your mother was so happy."

Pete shook his head quickly, eyes darkening. "He didn't marry her. He left soon after you did. I haven't heard from 'im since."

My face fell. Jimmy was gone? The scowl on Pete's face told me the subject of his brother was not a good idea, and so I moved on hastily, tucking my questions about Jimmy Conlon away for another time. "And what about your mother?"

Pete turned away from me sharply, his voice gruff. "She died last year. Doctors said she had a bad heart."

He disappeared into a room to our left, and I followed, not knowing what else to do, much less say. It was still sinking in. Theresa and Jimmy Conlon were no longer there, no longer a part of Brooklyn. I could not stretch my brain around that, around how easily people can just disappear, like fog right before sunrise.

Looking up, I realized that Pete was talking softly to me as he collapsed onto the couchso softly I could barely hear him. "…I just keep forgetting you haven't been around for so much. I mean…not even the Lodging House. Not even Ma. Christ."

I sat down next to him, eager to turn the conversation toward a brighter path. "So, tell me about this place. Girls sell newspapers now? Like, more than one?"

Pete chuckled. "Yeah. But ya know, you'll always be the one of th' first." He punched my arm, and I gently shoved him back, grinning. "This place started bout two years ago…that's when us Brooklyn boys became official "newsies", and let girls join, too. There are two bunkrooms, one male, and one female. We get one free meal a day, dinner…"

"But it's usually a sorry excuse for food. Trust me." Someone interrupted Pete's speech, and we both looked up to see a short, smiling girl leaning against the doorjamb. Pete smiled slightly. "Hey, Bittah. What are you still doin' home?"

Bittah snickered. "I was just on my way out when I heard ya down here, Spot. But now that I see your, um…" She eyed me and smirked, "…_busy_, I'll leave ya to it. Have a nice night." With a wink, she disappeared out of sight.

Next to me, Pete groaned. "Great. I give Mix about five minutes before she's in here, ripping my head off about 'cheatin' on her. _Again._"

I looked at him as something occurred to me. "She called you Spot..."

Pete shrugged. "Yeah…everyone does now. Most of 'em don't even know me real name."

"Oh." I sat back, thinking this over, not liking it one bit. "Well, just to let ya know, I ain't callin' ya anything but Pete. I always hated Spot." I made a face, and he laughed.

A few minutes later, the calm of our quiet conversation was broken by a loud yell, accompanied by the slamming of the front door. "Conlon! Where are ya, ya dirty rotten…"

Pete sighed, peering up at the mantle clock. "What'd I say? Five minutes? I underestimated 'er."

Eyebrows raised, I watched as a girl with long, wavy ebony hair came stomping into the room. Her hazel eyes flashed with anger as they looked me over. "Who the _hell_ is _this_?" An accusatory finger went out in my direction. Pete stood up.

"Hey, Mix, don't talk to 'er like dat. There ain't no need to be rude."

I blinked. Mix? Why didn't any of these people have _normal_ names?

"There's a god damn _need_ for me to know who dis girl is who you're _cheatin_' on me with," Mix spat, still glaring at me. I opened my mouth to defend myself, only to have Pete start talking first.

"Relax, will ya? I'm not cheatin' on ya. She's an old friend."

Mix did not look convinced. Her eyes shifted slowly from me to Pete, back and forth, like a pendulum. "An old friend, eh? What's 'er name den? I want details."

"I'm Rose Nolan," I said, my voice much too loud. "I've known Pete since…well…since forever." Pete nodded, and we both gazed evenly at Mix, whose face was contorted in a spiteful frown.

"_Pete?_ I thought no one called you that, Conlon. At least, that's what you told me. _You_ told me to call ya Spot."

Pete sighed and rolled his eyes. "Christ, Mix, she's like me sister. Of course she calls me Pete. She doesn't know Spot Conlon. Only Pete."

Mix snorted and threw me a glare before turning to leave. "Well Rose, here's some advice, from me to you. You leave _Spot_ alone, ya hear? _He _is spoken for."

With that she was gone, and I was left sitting stunned on the couch, blinking like a goldfish, mouth slightly ajar. Pete glared after her, voice colored in frustration. "Sometimes I don't know why I put up with 'er attitude…" He said, leaning against the mantle and running his hand through his hair.

"You've got a girlfriend," I said slowly, turning this very strange concept over in my mind.

"Well, I _had_ a girl…. We'll see how she feels about it tomorrow." He laughed a little, but the sound stopped suddenly as he watch me rise quickly from the couch and head for the door, muttering.

"I...um...I gotta get goin'." This was too much for me. The fact that Pete had a _girl_, a very unfriendly one at that, with which he did God knows what with, was making my stomach tie itself in knots.

I felt like I was drowning. I was overwhelmed and over-stimulated and panicking. What had happened to the Pete I used to know? What happened to my world? My hand was turning the doorknob as I felt Pete's touch come down on my shoulder. "What's da matter with you, Rose? Where are ya goin'?"

"Hom—" I caught myself, disgusted. Had I really almost called the Convent home? "Back to the convent. It's late."

"It ain't late. Come on, you just got here. Stay awhile."

I fell into silence, eyes trained on the doorknob, waiting for Pete to let go of me and disappear back into the past, where I was beginning to think he belonged. Finally, I think he got sick of waiting. Slowly he turned me around, big hands on both my shoulders. "Rose..."

Jesus. One syllable and I melted. Reluctantly I brought my eyes to meet his. "Everything's changed," I mumbled, voice barely above a whisper. Pete laughed a little.

"Not everything. I'm still the same old Pete."

I shook my head, frowning. "But you're not. Your _Spot Conlon_. Leader of Brooklyn. They don't even call you Pete anymore. The Pete I knew…"

Pete's rough fingers reaching up to touch my cheek momentarily distracted me. Suddenly I was all too aware of the closeness of our faces, the sound of his breathing, the way his hair fell into his eyes…

I panicked. He probably wasn't even thinking of what I thought he was going to do, but I panicked still. I suddenly realized that this boy, this gangly, smirking young man, was a stranger to me. A stranger whowas now abit to close for comfort.

My hand searched wildly for the doorknob behind my back, and when I finally managed to turn it open, I pitched backwards, much to the surprise of Pete, who fell right along with me. We landed in a jumble of arms and legs on the front stoop, and the moment I recovered from the shock of the fall I began to struggled to get free of his touch as fast as I could.


	5. 5

_A/N: I'm trying to make the chapters big so I can keep all your attentions. You better love me for that. And love bitter, too, because she is a pain in my ass and she's the man. Woman. you know what i mean. _

_Anyway, quick note. To a reviewer whose name currently is a blank, and i am to lazy to go check, the POV of this story is Rose. Sorry if I didn't make that clear!_

_So. Read, review, and i'll love you forever..._

* * *

As I scrambled to my feet, a smattering of applause reached my ears. Looking up, I found a knot of people standing on the sidewalk in front of me, staring. A few were clapping, some trying not to laugh, and a couple of girls looked particularly angry. A string of curse words flew from my mouth as I struggled to collect myself.

Not a shred of dignity left and a blush staining my freckled cheeks, I pushed Pete's helping hands away from me. "I'm fine," I insisted, trying to avoid the stares, "really. I'm okay. I have to get going…"

I could hear footsteps climbing the stairs behind me, and could only pray they didn't belong to Mix. Call me crazy, but I had a feeling she wouldn't have found the humor in this situation.

"Jesus Spot, I've heard of fella's knocking girl's off 'a their feet…but this ain't what I think they meant." The voice—a girl's—had a hint of a smile in it.

The owner soon stepped into view. She was petite—no, make that downright tiny–with curly raven hair swept up in a ponytail and porcelain skin. My eyes instantly fell on a scar that curled like a snake down her neck, tapering off as it reached her jutting collarbone. Smiling slightly, she offered me a hand, which I took gratefully. "Have a bit of a spill there?"

I brushed non-existent dirt off of my pants and shrugged. "I'm kinda clumsy sometimes…"

The girl glanced at Pete, who was now hovering in the doorway, then back at me. "Oh right, sure. Who _ain't_ clumsy when they're being molested by Spot Conlon?" The comment was dipped in sarcasm and iced with mockery. Pete took another step away from me, scowling, and the girl laughed softly. "Relax Conlon, I'm just kiddin' around." She turned to me. "I'm Fearless, by the way."

I blinked. "Oh. Um…congratulations? I mean, that's good. It's a good um…quality, I gue—"

A burst of laugher stopped me cold. I turned to find Pete was convulsing with silent chortles. "What's so funny?" I demanded, putting my hands on my hips.

"Dat's her _name_. Fearless is her _name._ Jesus, Rose…" Pete gasped, leaning against the doorjamb.

I raked hair out of my face and cleared my throat, now throughly convinced that this night could not get any more embarrassing? "Oh. Well, I'm Rose Nolan," I mumbled hurriedly, eager to get out of there, " and I really have to get goin'" I began to walk down the steps, and Fearless caught up to me. "I'll walk with ya. It's too hot to sleep, anyway."

I eyed her, frowning. "Well alright…if ya want."

"I do."

So we set off down the dim street, away from Pete and Mix, and all those horrible skeptical stares boring into my back like a thousand daggers.

* * *

A few blocks passed before Fearless finally began talking, kicking a pebble down the sidewalk with impossibly small feet as she did so. "So you're the 'old friend', eh?"

"I'm infamous already?" I wasn't too surprised by that. The Brooklyn Rumor Mill seemed to be in fine working order, same as before. "Wonderful."

"Well," Fearless said, crinkling her nose, "when ya get on Mix's bad side she makes it well known. _Very_ well known."

I pursed my lips. "I didn't _do_ anything…"

"Oh, but you did. You spent a moment alone with _the_ Spot Conlon!" She threw a hand to her forehead melodramatically. "Surely, you two were havin' a hot 'n heavy love affair!"

I couldn't help but laugh. "Me and Pete? He's like a brother to me. I'd never…"

"He was like a brother to you last time you saw 'im, right? That was a long time ago. Things change. People change."

I looked over at her, eyebrows knit together. "What are you trying to say, exactly?"

Fearless raised her shoulders. "Hey, I ain't sayin' anythin' _exactly_. I barely know what's going on between you two. I'm just saying, Mix is only angry because she saw you as a _threat._" She nodded sagely and continued kicking.

I laughed uneasily. "Mix is crazy. I ain't a threat."

"Whatever you say," said Fearless as she tried to hide a smirk, failing miserably. "But tell me, how did you manage to fall out of the door again? And with Spot tumbling right on top of you like that--"

"Here's my stop," I interrupted quickly, fearing what might come next. The big stone building rose out of the summer gloom and Fearless squinted up at it. "Ain't this an orphanage?"

"…and a convent," I muttered dejectedly, slipping through the bars of the threatening but rather useless iron fence that surrounded it. Turning back to Fearless, I saw a confused expression clouding her face. "I'm a Novice," I explained scornfully, "a kinda…nun-in-training. Well, for now, anyway."

Fearless's face looked like she had been sucking on a lemon. "Christ, a nun? No wonder you came looking for Spot." With a naughty grin, she took a step away from the fence. "Well, it was a good walk. Nice to meetcha, Rose. Maybe I'll see you again soon." With a small wave, she disappeared around the corner.

Sighing, I rested my still pink cheek on the cool metal bar, relishing my last few moments of freedom. My voice rang out clear and distinct on the abandoned street.

"What have I gotten myself into?"

* * *

"What have you gotten yourself into?" Becky demanded, yanking weeds with a vengeance from the patch of carrots occupying a corner of the Convent's vegetable garden. I sat back on my heels, wiping droplets of sweat from my forehead.

"I don't know. Hell, I don't even know what to _think_ anymore."

"When was the last time you saw him?" Becky paused to readjust the straw hat perched on her head and glance at me out of the corner of her eye. I shrugged.

"That other night, when he took me to the vaudeville…three weeks ago maybe?" I commenced to chewing on my bottom lip and watched a parade of ants wind in between the rows of turnips. Three weeks was a long time.

"Rose, maybe you should just forget about it," Becky said, her voice dropping a few decibels as an elderly Sister plodded towards us. "I mean, it was good that you saw him and resolved your problems and forgave him and spent some time with him, but maybe…" She expertly avoided my stare. "Maybe it's done now."

I rubbed dirty fingers across my forehead, leaving a streak of brown over one eyebrow. "But what if I don't want it to be done?"

"You need to talk to him again," She said as she returned her attention to the stalks of green shooting up from the rich soil. "See what he says about you…going back. That's what you want, isn't it?"

I turned to stare at her in shock. That was the first time I'd ever heard any trace of bitterness, or anger, or anything other than kindness, really, in Becky's voice. Before I could say anything, she dropped her gardening tools to the ground and stood up with a full basket of vegetables in the crook of her arm. "I'm taking these in for supper."

With that she disappeared inside, leaving me with Sister Anne-Marie to poke and prod and coax our vegetables to grow.

She was mad at me. Becky was _angry_ with _me?_ This was an entirely new, entirely foreign concept that made my stomach turn flip-flops as I stomped up the back stairs to my room. I threw myself onto the nearest bed, raking hair out of my eyes with dirty fingers. Becky really had no reason to be angry. She was being selfish. That was it. She was jealous that I had found my past—Pete and all—and she was still here in the convent. Sure, that front she put forward was all about piety and religion, but really, who could possibly _want_ to be a nun for the rest of their life?

There was a side of Becky I'm sure I had never seen—up until that moment. Now the devoutness slipped away, now I saw the green sparkling in her eyes whenever I talked about Pete. How could I have been so blind?

Well, now the blindfold was off. I was ignorant no longer. I sat up, my sore muscles energized with the plan forming in my head. So Becky thought she could treat me like that?

We'd see how she felt once I was really gone.

* * *

Knocking on that big green door of the Brooklyn Lodging House took a bit more courage without Pete standing beside me, as he had all the other times I'd been there, but somehow I managed to lift my shaking hand and tap out a few hollow notes. There was no sign of confirmation from within that my timid knock had been heard. Was it too late? Where they all out already, knee-deep in their nightly adventures around the dark, hot city?

My fist was lifted to try one last time when the door opened up about six inches. "Who's that?"

The muffled question was coming from the owner of one large blue eye that stared suspiciously out at me from the small crack. "It's um—It's Rose Nolan. A friend of P—I mean, a friend of Spot's? I've been here before. Um, a few times."

There was silence once again, that skeptical eye glinting out at me like a diamond. I cleared my throat and was turning to leave when the door swung open wide. There was a girl on the other side, feet set wide apart, arms folded across her chest, a black cap sitting at a jaunty angle on her head. "Rose Nolan? Yeah okay. I've heard all about ya. I think Spot's around. C'mon in."

With a wave of her hand she turned and began to walk, me following like an overeager puppy. I swallowed hard, willing any type of moisture into my Sahara-dry throat. "What's your name?" I croaked, my best attempt at breaking the tense silence between my guide and I.

The girl looked over her shoulder at me. "You can call me Aki."

"That's a interestin' name fer a Brooklyn girl, eh?" I smiled slightly. Aki shrugged and kept walking.

"Well, I ain't from Brooklyn first of all. Secondly, it ain't my real name."

"Oh," I mumbled, utterly defeated, "right."

She didn't seem to keen on carrying on much of a conversation as we wound around the downstairs of the house, looking, I guess, for Pete. Finally Aki sighed and paused by the stairs, eying me over her glasses skeptically. "I guess he might be upstairs…but really, I gotta go." She leaned over to glance at the mantle clock in the adjacent parlor. "You can manage, right?"

I nodded. It wasn't like I could get lost in the place, after all.

"Good," said Aki, sending me a slight smile in my general direction and walking off toward the front door. "See ya."

At that she was gone, and like a cautious mountain climber I mounted the stairs and ascended them slowly. Something about this house made my knees turn weak, and I clenched the banister so hard my knuckles turned white. "Pete?" I called, my voice bouncing down the darkened hallway. I knocked softly on the first door I came across, and after a minute a dark head popped out of the door.

"Who the hell is screaming lik—" Fearless paused when she saw me, her eyes small and puffy from the nap I had obviously interrupted. "Oh. Rose. What are you doin' here?"

I smiled at the familiar face, thanking God silently it wasn't Mix. "Heya Fearless…I was lookin' for Pete. He around?"

"Umm," Fearless glanced up and down the hallway, thinking. "Probably in the boy's room," she said, adding a shrug. I thanked her quietly and continued on my way down the hall, chewing on my bottom lip.

As my hand reached for the doorknob it was flung open, and I jumped back in surprise. Spot stood smiling at me across the frame, hair in all directions. " 'Evening, Rose."

I laughed in spite of my jelly knees and shaking hands. "Pete, how'd you know it was me?"

He shrugged and pulled me into the inky room. "Thin walls. Now, why am I bein' graced wit' your presence tonight?" The room was hot and stuffy and did not smell all to fresh, and I was grateful when Pete sat me down on a bed next to an open window.

"I wanted to talk to ya," I said, folding my hands in my lap. "I haven't seen ya in awhile…"

"Yeah, well, we've been havin' some trouble 'round heah lately, didn't want to get you involved. You could call it a mutiny."

I blinked. "A mutiny?" If nothing else, the Convent had at least improved my otherwise useless brain. "But why would your boys wanna get rid of you?"

Pete shrugged and rubbed a hand through his hair. "I'll be damned if I know." His words were tinged with a slightly defeated, tired tone that I hated to hear, especially in him.

"Well, listen, I've got something important to ask ya about." I leaned toward him, touching his elbow slightly. "I was wondering…"

"Yeah?" The moonlight streaming in through the window gave Pete's already light eyes an otherworldly sort of glow. Goosebumps rose over my skin as he stared evenly at me.

"I was wonderin' if I could maybe um…that is, I mean, would it be alright if I maybe…well, could I come and live here Pete? Become a newsie again?"

My question was met with a surprised silence. Pete cleared his throat. "What about the convent?"

"I need to get out of there. I'm dyin' in there, Pete. Suffocating. I'm done wit the convent…and the people in it." I nodded slightly, looking at my hands. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Pete swallow hard.

"Well…" He began, only to fall off into silence again. "Well, of course you can come stay. I ain't gonna say no to _you_, for Christ's Sake."

I looked up, startled. Had he just said yes? I had been to busy waiting for a negative answer and a explaination to go along with it to actually hear what Pete said.

"I'd love to have ya around again, Rosie." His face broke into a wide smile; whatever troubling thing that had darkened his eyes and made his words hesitant a moment before was shoved hastily away. "It'll be just like old times again. That'd be nice." He reached up and cuffed me playfully on the chin, and I grinned.

"Good. I'll be moved in by the end of the week…okay?" I stood up and twirled around the room, practically drunk on the excitement of finally coming home again. Pete, too. I was coming back to him, for good. He stood as well, striding toward the door, beckoning for me to follow.

"Sure. We've got a few empty bunks in the girl's room. Now I hate to kick you out…but we start our days early in Brooklyn, and I need my sleep."

We laughed and joked all the way to the front door. I don't think my feet even touched the ground as I danced my way back to the Convent.


	6. 6

"Rose Nolan, you stop right there."

I was halfway into the window when Mother Superior's voice stopped me cold. I looked up into the dim room, blood roaring in my ears. Maybe I was just imagining things…

The lights came up. Three figures occupied the plain room. Mother Superior was front and center, eyes flashing with anger, a truly terrifying figure in her stiff Habit. Just behind her left shoulder stood Hades, who had a sickening smirk curling her lips as her arms sat folded across her chest. Then there was Becky, _my_ Becky, who sat rigidly on her bed behind the terrible twosome, eyes trained intently on the shiny wood floor, bony shoulders hunched up by her ears.

I tried to swallow and failed. Mother Superior spat out another command. "Get in this room this _instant_, young lady." Strangely enough, I kept my mouth shut and did as I was told, fear of what was to come drying up the river of snide comments usually flowing from my lips. I wanted to curl into myself and disappear. This couldn't be happening. _How? Why? _Hadn't I gone through enough already?

Mother Superior pressed her thin lips together for a moment before beginning to speak, her voice quavering with anger as she tried to keep her cool. "It has been brought to my attention, Ms. Nolan, that you've been leaving the convent at night for…over a month. Is this true?"

Silence. Why was she asking me? Didn't she just catch me in the act? If there was one thing Mother Superior knew, it was her mind games. I dug my hands into my pockets and stared at my feet. "No—" I began in a sad, defeated voice, only to be cut off shrilly.

"You dare to _lie_ to my _face?_ Do I have to remind you that lying is a _sin, _young lady?" She paused, considering her words. "However considering your behavior lately, I'm sure that hasn't been your only sin. Lying is probably the least of your worries, Ms. Nolan. I know full well what you've been doing. How inconsiderate. How _low_. You've taken my hospitality, my charity, and my generosity and thrown it back in my face. I am horrified, disappointed, and angry. _To say the least_." Hades snickered behind Mother Superior's back. Becky did not look up.

I paused for a minute, considering my situation. Finally, I looked up, meeting Mother Superior's angry gaze with clear eyes. "Fine. Fine, it's all true. Whatever you've heard, I've done. Worse, probably." I shrugged and leaned back against the wall, strangely calm, accepting the fact that I was already done for.

"You—you—" Mother Superior sputtered, completely caught off guard by this new attitude. She was obviously not used to people not crumbling under her heavy, accusing stare. A wrinkled finger went out in my direction. "You will report to my office at ten o'clock sharp tomorrow morning, young lady. I will deal with you then, after a good night's rest, prayer, and reflection." She sniffed, glared fleetingly at the two other girls, and swept out of the room like a large black cloud, and in her anger-fueled hurry, Mother Superior forgot to take the stolen key that I still had safe in my pocket.

A dense silence settled over us. No one moved.

"How long did you really think you could keep it from me, Rose?" Hades, of course, elected herself worthy to break the deafening quiet. "I mean, honestly. We share a room, for Christ's Sake. It was only a matter of time. How stupid can you be? Sneaking out of a _convent?_ You were bound to get caught, and I was more than happy to be the one to accelerate that possibility." Her tone was haughty, self-admiring, and it took me only three long strides to glide over to her and slap her hard across the face.

"_You._ You are worthless. It is horrible, cold people like you that make this world the way it is. You can't be happy unless everyone else is miserable." As I spat out these hard, bitter words, Hades was crumpling to the floor, one hand pressed against her stinging cheek. Now I was on a roll, adrenaline roaring through my veins. "And what about you?" I asked, turning to Becky.

She looked up at me with big, sad eyes. I steeled myself against them. "I thought you were my friend. I even _cared_ about you for awhile. How could I have been so blind? You're just like her." I jabbed my thumb back toward Hades, and Becky winced as if I had struck her, too. "Why did you do this to me, Becky? Why did you betray me like this?"

There was no answer. Becky turned her attention back to the floor, which apparently was vastly more interesting than I was, as big tears began to roll down her cheeks. With a cry of frustration I threw my hands in the air. "I'm not staying here any more. You two can go to hell. And so can Mother Superior." I rushed to my bed, meaning to gather my things for departure, then stopped when I realized that I had nothing to gather. Shaking my head in bewildered disillusionment, I back away toward the window and scrambled out, ripping a long cut into my trousers as I shimmed down the fire escape, empty-handed and crying.

* * *

After I left the convent, I didn't go running to Pete—surprisingly enough. I couldn't even stand to be around myself, much less anyone else. I spent weeks racing through the muggy city streets in a desperate attempt to lose the girl I had become, and hating that I could not.

It didn't take many days of scrounging for food and sleeping on hard, unforgiving park benches to make me actually miss the convent, with it's soft beds and hot meals. And Becky. Looking back, I realized that maybe I should have heard her side before exploding…but there was nothing to do about it now. I couldn't have gone back to the convent—for obvious reasons--and even thinking about the Lodging House made my stomach tie itself in knots.

So I remained suspended, going neither forward into the future nor retreated into the comfortable routine of the past. Like a ghost I roamed the streets, eating little, talking less, trying in vain to find a place where this new, grotesque version of Rose Nolan fit.

And then, three long weeks after I had left the convent, Pete found me. Finally, he did what I had wanted him to do—on about a four-year delay.

As it was told to me later on, I was delirious with hunger and dehydration, my legs and arms covered with open wounds—compliments of the rats that I shared an alley with. By pure chance, Pete took a short cut through that very alleyway, saw me, and brought me home. He didn't even recognize it was me until after I was safe in bed in the Lodging House under the watchful care of the kindly old owner. Apparently, when Pete picked me up, he thought I was a little boy, abandoned and starving. He was only half-wrong.

It took me awhile to get my strength back, and even longer for me to start talking again. Even three months after I came to the Lodging House, my eyes still retained an eerie, empty quality, or so Pete told me. I believed him. That was how I felt inside, anyway.

The idyllic, happy life I had expected at the Lodging House was no where to be found that autumn. It seemed as if I had arrived during a tumultuous time. Rumors concerning the mutiny Pete had mentioned in passing to me so many months ago were growing to large to ignore; so much so that Pete, strong, invincible Pete, was a nervous, paranoid mess. His fingers were constantly wrapped around the handle of his favorite knife, eyes shifting over everyone, even his closest friends, suspicious, scared even. I hated to see what it reduced him to, to see the layers stripped away, revealing a soft, fearful inner young man. Mortal and feeling, just like the rest of us. Who would've known?

My installation at the Lodging House was accepted by most of the Brooklyn newsies; a few girls even became sort-of friends, and they told me boys took some notice of me once in awhile, but I was convinced it was for no other reasons than pure curiosity. They were all more like brothers to me, anyway. And besides, knowing Pete, I was probably off-limits to the likes of them. I was settling nicely into my new job as a newsie. Keeping my head down and staying out of trouble, the lifestyle suited me just fine.

And then there was Mix.


	7. 7

"You can't be serious. You _cannot_ be serious. She's here? For _good?_" I had been at the Lodging House only a few days when Mix's angry voice jarred me out of a fitful sleep one sunny afternoon.

"Christ, Mix, keep it down, would ya? She's sleeping right next door."

"You know what, Spot? I don't give a rat's _ass_ if she's sleeping. When did she get here?"

"A couple days ago. I found her in some alley—she was in real bad shape…"

"A real sob story, Conlon. Really, I'm touched. Why didn't you just drop her back off at that convent, where she belongs?"

"She hated it there. I wasn't gonna make her go back! God dammit Mix, enough!" There was a muffled thump. Pete was throwing things. "She's staying. She is now a permanent fixture in this house. And I don't wanna hear another word about it from the likes 'a you." There was a pause, then Pete's voice again, deadly seriously. "And if I get one report about you messing around wit her, just _one_, you're gone. So help me God, Mix. You're my girl, but she's...she's my sister."

They remained a couple, which completely dumbfounded me, not to mention the rest of the occupants of the Lodging House. Even after all that fighting immediately after my arrival, they stayed together. I would watch them when I could, secretly contemplating why Pete wanted a girl like her. What on earth was the appeal?

* * *

"I'm tellin' you, she's knocked up. That's gotta be it. Why would he still be with her otherwise?" The cold December wind swept Fearless's words from her mouth and sent them swirling down the street. I could barely hear her.

"D'ya think?" I sighed, pushing renegade strands of hair back under my knit winter hat. "Maybe. I mean, I can't see any other reason they're still together." Crinkling my nose, I shifted my small stack of newspapers from one shoulder to another. Discussing Mix and Spot's relationship had become a terribly entertaining activity for Fearless and I. Well, mostly just for me.

"Look, don't worry about it. I'm bettin' they'll be through real soon—Spot can't handle the pressure of Mix's bullshit _and_ these crazy rumors that have been going around. He'll drop her like a bad habit." Fearless patted my arm absent-mindedly, and I reverted back to the old habit of chewing on my bottom lip, already chapped and split from hours out selling papers in the cold.

"It's freezing," I finally muttered, unsure of what else there was to be said. "Let's hurry it up, okay?"

With a whoop of agreement, Fearless tore ahead, feet barely skimming the pavement as she raced on towards home without me. I sighed, wishing I could somehow find the energy to do the same.

I was turning the corner, the Lodging House barely ten feet away, when someone yanked me into a dusky alleyway.

The beginnings of quite a scream were escaping from my lips when a slim hand clamped quickly over my mouth. A familiar, concerned face materialized from the dark.

"Aki?"

She took her hand away from my mouth and nodded solemnly. "Sorry to scare ya, Rose, but we need to talk." She swallowed hard. "Listen um... I've got something important to tell you." Her eyes were big and shining in the fading light. My heart leapt.

"What? What is it?"

Aki cleared her throat. She started to speak, then stopped, shaking her head, and then, after another moment, began again. "Last night I went to the Rose Theatre, ya know, to see the show with a few people?" I nodded, urging her on.

"And?"

"Well I went outside during the second act, plannin' on having a nice quiet smoke before things got crazy at intermission. An—and while I was outside, I heard people talking."

I couldn't quite see where this was going, and her plodding pace was frustrating me. "So what? We all eavesdrop sometim—"

"They were talking about _Pete_," Aki interrupted, voice grave, "they were talking about some kinda plan, about how they were gonna set him up and…and…" She trailed off, and I could guess what they had been planning on doing to my Pete.

"Did you see who it was, Aki? Did you?" I took a step forward, grasping her arm. She looked at the ground and I shook her, her silence answering my question. "Aki, you _did _see. Who was it? Was it someone we know?"

Her voice was a strangled whisper. "It was Mix," she said finally, "It was Mix and some fellah I've seen once in awhile down at the Pub. He's a bad guy, Rose. He's got a lot a friends in the wrong places, if ya know what I mean."

My heart was flopping around my rib-cage like a caught fish, and I swallowed hard. "Jesus…"

"Listen, Rose, I told you this because you gotta tell Spot. Before it's too late."

I shook my head. "Why can't you tell him? You're the one who heard it, after all. He'd probably like to hear it from an eye-witness..."

"You're the only one he ever really listens to! Please, Rose. Please. You gotta."

I took a step backward, sighing. "Are you sure you won't do it, Aki? The last thing I need is another reason for Mix to hate me."

"Pete's gonna die if ya don't Rose," Aki responded, slipping back into the shadows of the alleyway, "you gotta tell him. Forget Mix. This is about him." A moment later she was gone, and as soon as she was I turned on my heel and rushing off to the Lodging house. Despite Mix and the threat she carried, I had to tell Pete. Of course I had to tell Pete. There was no other way.

* * *

"But you have to believe me! Listen, I know it sounds crazy—"

"_Crazy_? No Rose, this sounds _impossible_. Now I know you and Mix don't exactly get along…but this is takin' things just to far."

"Please, Pete, you have to believe me. She's plotting against you. She wants you gone! Do you know where she was last night? Can you tell me for sure?" I knew the answer as well as he did–he could not. Pete had spent the night in, playing cards with some of his boys. I clenched my fists, frustration turning my cheeks pink. "_Please _Pete, you have to listen. If you don't listen—" The words caught in my throat. I couldn't even bring myself to say it.

Pete sighed, looking up at me from where he was sprawled on his bunk. The room was empty save for us, dark and cold. "Rose," he said, rolling off the bed and walking to where I was sitting by the window, hugging myself, trying to make the goosebumps go away. With a few fingers he lifted my chin so that our eyes met. "You're telling the truth?"

"Why would I lie to you, Pete? Especially about something this serious?" I said, standing up and wrapping my arms around him, burying my face in his shoulder. God, he was warm. "If you died," I mumbled, "what would I do then? I'd be all alone. Please believe to me, Pete. Please."

He stroked my back for a minute, each movement of his hand strumming more reassurance into my worry-racked soul, then stepped away, face earnest. "I ain't planning on leavin' you alone. Not again. Not ever."

He turned then, embarrassed by this flash of emotion, and, snagging his hat from a nearby hook on the wall, fit it low over his eyes. "I'll take care of things," he assured me, and with a final nod he swept out the door, leaving me in the dim bunkroom, shivering without him.

* * *

"Read all about it! Mayor's Daughter Caught in Secret Love Affair!" My voice was rough with disuse as I shouted headlines into the dense crowd charging up and down the sidewalk, each face pinched with the surprise of a cold breeze every now and then. "Extra, Extra! Accident on Train Leaves—"

A hand latched onto my arm. I turned to come face to face with Fearless, her cheeks pink from the chilly air. "She's gone."

The hand that was raised and waving a newspaper frantically about fell abruptly to my side. "Really?" I muttered in slight surprise, half to myself, " that was fast." The conversation with Pete in the darkened bunkroom had taken place only the evening before. Our embrace was still fresh in my mind. Hell, it was the _only _thing in my mind.

"Yeah. And it wasn't a pretty thing to watch," said Fearless, "And we _all_ watched." A hint of a smile curved her lips. "Newsies can't resist scandal."

She waited for me to agree, to offer up a smile of my own, but none came. Instead I stared blankly ahead of me, chewing on my lip. "What happened?"

"It happened as we was walking to get some lunch. Spot pulled 'er over to the side... it wasn't a quiet conversation."

I was silent, but nodding. Fearless went on. "Eventually they went inside, and naturally we all followed…" She paused to wipe her nose on the back of her hand. "She denied it all, Rose. Every bit of it. Flat out denied it to his face. Said she wasn't even _at_ the Theatre that night."

"Well, what did ya expect 'er to do? Did she have any alibi's to back her up?"

"Nope. Spot asked her, too, and she just stood there like an idiot." Fearless shrugged. "She punched 'im, too."

I turned to stare at her, open-mouthed. "_Punched him?"_

Fearless nodded, grinning. "Yeah. Talk about a bad idea, right? But yeah, she did. And after that she stormed out of the Lodging House, bag in hand. Mr. Hawkins crossed her name outta the ledger and everything. Her bunk's empty."

"She's really gone..." I breathed, realizing suddenly that I had been holding my breath while Fearless was talking.

"Yup. Really gone. I heard she's headed to Jersey."

I nodded, feeling a bit as if a curse had been lifted. Mix, the evil queen, was gone forever, and the handsome prince was free of her spell. With a slight smile I lifted the paper again. "That's good. That's very good. I gotta get sellin' though," I muttered. "Got at least thirty papes left."

Fearless nodded, squeezing my arm before fading away into the river of people that rushed past me. "Okay. See ya later then."

* * *

Pete's eye was a lovely shade of purple when I came upon him in the kitchen later that night, frowning into a clouded mirror that hung by the back door. Making noises of discontent and disapproval, I went into automatic mother mode and pushed him into a chair, scolding, "Stop pokin' at it. It'll only make it worse. Do we have any ice?"

He shrugged, never one to be concerned with groceries, and I ducked my head into the icebox. There was a small melting block left on the shelf that I scooped up and wrapped in a dishtowel. Sitting down across from him, I pressed it to his eye. "Hold it there."

He obeyed, watching me intently with his good eye. "So I'm guessin' ya heard."

"I heard. Was it as bad as it sounded?"

Pete shut his eye for a moment. "Worse."

I sighed and let my eyes fall to my hands, watching my fingers wind around themselves as they sat in my lap. Pete leaned his head back against the chair and a small, barely audible groan escaped from his parted lips.

"Did you love her?" My sudden question sounded harsh in the brutally quiet kitchen. Pete lifted his head and stared at me, letting the ice fall away from his eye. Wordlessly I grabbed his hand and guided the lumpy pack back to its rightful place. He said nothing for a long time, just stared out at me, then at the ground, then back out at me, an endless pattern.

"I don't know," he said finally, quietly, a furrow forming in his forehead as he considered the question.

"You were together for a long time."

"That don't mean I loved her."

"Then _why_ did you stay with her?" My voice raised a octave. I sounded desperate. Cursing myself silently, I clamped my mouth shut.

"Who else was I going to be with?"

_Me!_ a voice shouted inside my brain as my lips remained dutifully together. Shaking my head, I tried to dislodge the renegade thought, but it remained loud and clear, singing in my ears. "There are _plenty _of girls who would have happily volunteered, Pete. You know that."

Pete couldn't resist smiling ever so slightly at this comment. He knew. "Mix treated me differently. She wasn't afraid."

"I'm not afraid either." The words came out before I knew what I was saying. Horrified that I had spoken such words aloud, I glued my eyes to my feet, and tucked my chin into my chest, wanting to sink into the dirty wood floor.

"I know," said Pete, and I could hear the smile in his voice. My cheeks burned, and I didn't dare look up. "But, you're…you're _you_, Rose."

Finally, curiosity got the best of me. I lifted my chin to frown at him. "Yes, I am."

"…and I…I'm me." This was getting nowhere. I raised my eyebrows.

"So where does that leave us, then?" I asked quietly, looking back down at my hands, slightly dreading the answer. _Friends forever. Brother and sister. _

The ice pack clinked softly as Pete set it down on the table. He leaned toward me and touched my hot cheek with cold, moist fingers.

And then he kissed me.


	8. 8

After what happened between Pete and I in the kitchen, things changed. Again. It seems to me, now, that that's all life really is: change after change after change. Just as things are going well and you're happy and content, it disappears, slipping out between your fingers like so many grains of sand. Now this change, like so many others in my life, wasn't for the better.

Pete and I did not fall together into some passionate, heated relationship after the kitchen incident. Hell, what we had wasn't even lukewarm. Pete kissing me turned my world positively upside-down, and I panicked. I avoided him to the best of my ability, finding refuge from his inquiring gaze in dark alleyways and the Lodging House roof, among other strategic, out-of-the-way places. And trust me, it wasn't an easy feat to elude Pete Conlon. It was like he was everywhere, all at once. Up and down, left and right, around every corner waiting for me, waiting to begin the conversation I knew would eventually have to come between us, waiting to touch me with those hands and look at me with those eyes and make me fall to pieces in front of him, just like I always did. Just how I hated to do.

In time I became the resident hermit of the Brooklyn newsies, fearing that if I went out it would simply give him another chance to try and corner me. Besides, my newspaper hawking skills were sorely lacking, and I didn't have enough money to go drink it away in some seedy bar like the others did.

My plan seemed to work for a few weeks, and work well. I avoided Pete and Pete…well, I think eventually he got the hint, and as much as he didn't like it, he left me alone too. But then I let my guard down. And Pete saw the crack in my defense and took advantage of it, just as he always had done with everything else.

* * *

It was freezing out on the roof, yet there I remained, defiantly swinging my legs off of the edge, staring out across the clear January night, a stubby cigarette clenched between two fingers. My thoughts were playing a rousing game of leapfrog; jumping from the kiss to the convent to Becky and Hades, then to Mix to Jimmy and everything in between, when the sound of footsteps, assured and steady in their path towards me, echoed across the empty space.

A moment later Pete sat down beside me, teeth chattering. "Christ Rose, it's two-fifteen in the morning. What the hell are you doing?"

I shrugged, nonchalantly shifting over some. Space. Yes, that's what I needed between me and Pete. Lots and lots of space. "Ain't tired…"

"It's freezing out here," Pete returned, frowning as he gazed out over his kingdom, a mass of menacing shadows and darkness despite the bright, full moon above us.

"I don't mind."

There was silence. I took the opportunity to take another drag of my cigarette. I could see Pete frowning out of the corner of my eye.

"Since when do you smoke?"

I shrugged. "Since a little while ago. That a problem?" I congratulated myself on the steadiness of my voice. I sounded almost downright _bored _by the conversation

"No." He sat back on his palms, sighing. "Rose…"

Shit. Here we go. I could feel the beginnings of a long and painful conversation in that little four-letter word. "Yeah?"

"Why are you avoiding me?"

I stiffened slightly. "I'm not avoiding you." Jesus, I was an awful liar.

"Don't lie to me, Rose. I don't need to worry about _you_ lyin' to me, of all people."

Thoughtfully I considered the glowing orange embers at the tip of my cigarette. "Okay. Fine. I'm avoiding you."

"It was that kiss, wasn't it. In the kitchen…the night Mix left?" He said it as if I might have forgotten it. As if I ever could.

Words refused to form. My tongue lay like a useless, fat slug in my mouth. I simply nodded, swallowing hard and flicking away the butt that had since gone dead in my fingers. Pete moved closer to me, and in a flash of bravery I turned to face him, hoping my expression was unreadable. "Was it really that bad?" He asked, a shadow of a smile playing across his face. I wretched away from him sharply.

"Stop it, Pete. You know perfectly well that it wasn't your kissing skills that made me…" I paused. Made me what, exactly? I couldn't even really tell for sure. Scared? Happy? Angry? Nervous?

"…Uncomfortable." I finished with a little sigh. There. That was at least sort of neutral, sort of safe. Maybe he wouldn't question it.

Pete paused, considering this. "I didn't think…I mean, we've known each other for so long, I figured it'd be sorta…expected. Hell, haven't you thought about it? Ever? I have," he added, after a moment.

I couldn't honestly tell him that I hadn't. He would see right through me if I tried to lie again, anyway. So I sat in silence again, hugging myself for warmth.

"You _have_," said Pete fiercely, answering the question for me. "I know you have. So what's the matter? Why are you running away from me?"

"It was just…strange." I whispered, feeling oddly woozy. My fingers wrapped themselves around the edge of the roof, holding on for dear life. "You and me, kissing?" I shook my head. "Didn't it…bother you?"

"Bother me? Not really." He paused for a moment. "Okay, maybe it was a little strange. But _good_ strange, right? Good, I-want-it-to-happen-again strange?"

I looked up and was startled to find Pete grinning at me. Did he think this was funny? Did he not realize the absolute _torment_ that that one single moment had caused me? Suddenly infuriated, I leapt to my feet. "I'm not some stupid Spot Conlon devotee that melts into a puddle every time you send a smile my way, Pete. For Christ's sake, give me bit more credit than _that_."

He scrambled after me as I stormed away, fuming over the fact that really, he had hit the nail right on the head. How could he have known me so well and yet to me, he remained an enigma? That was unfair. Completely and utterly unfair. "Rose! Rose, hold on. Wait a second, will ya? I'm sorry, okay? I was kidding…"

My hands were on the window frame, tugging it open, when he caught up to me and gently seized my wrists, twisting me round so we were face to face, and far to close together for my liking. "I don't want it to be like this between us anymore, okay? I miss not spending time with ya. That kiss was…I don't know what it was, and I don't know where it came from, Rose, but I liked it. It felt _right_ to me…and I wouldn't mind it happening again."

I blinked at him, speechless. "A-again?"

He nodded, a smile creeping back onto his face. "Yeah. You know, if it ain't to…_uncomfortable_ for ya."

I tried to tug my hands away from his grip, scowling. "Pete! Don't make fun of me—"

He chuckled a little, pulling me closer despite my protests. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry. I won't make fun of you anymore, okay?"

At that very moment I made the unnerving discovery that my muscles were slowly transforming into jelly as our proximity increased. He wrapped strong arms around me, and leaned forward, eyes dropping closed. _Jesus, _I thought,_ not again_.

Quickly I ducked my head, and his puckering lips met nothing but cold air. I could help but smile a little as he opened his eyes and glared at me. "Rose! Jesus Christ! What is it? What are you so afraid of?" He loosened his grip on me slightly, frowning. "Didn't you tell me that you weren't afraid? What happened to that girl, huh?"

It was a trap, and he had set it perfectly. Of course I was going to defend myself. He knew me far to well.

"I'm _not_ afraid!" I contended, banging one fist into his chest. "Why would I ever be afraid of _you_, anyway? Arrogant jackass." There was silence for a moment between us, and I knew that I had been caught. Cursing inwardly, I heaved a huge sigh. "Look, I'm sorry Pete. It just…threw me off guard. I wasn't expecting you to go and kiss me. Ya didn't even warn me. But…" timidly I touched his cheek with a few fingers. "Maybe I can get used to it. Maybe."

The frown on his face vanished, replaced now by a slight smile. "Maybe's the best I'm gonna get now, ain't it," mumbled Spot with a grin, pulling me close once again.

I surrendered to his insistent lips. What else could I do? This was Pete. And now he was mine, all mine. Forever.


	9. 9

I was dreaming of our children as he died, alone and betrayed, on the deserted docks of the kingdom that made him.

They were beautiful, our kids. Two little girls with eyes like their daddy's, clear and disarming. They ran through my dreams in petal pink dresses, echoes of laughter pealing across the hallways of my brain, making me smile in my sleep as I lay curled up in the bunkroom.

It had been twenty-four hours, almost exactly, since our conversation on the rooftop. The day had gone by just like any other, and I had seen him for only a few minutes, minutes in which he took the opportunity to pull me into a conveniently nearby alleyway and drop kisses all over my face like rain. "Can ya come out tonight?" He wanted to know, but I shrank back from the suggestion. Out? With him? And other people watching?

Seeing my hesitation, Pete smiled slightly. "If you don't, that's okay. I know you're not a going-out sort of girl. We'll stay in, just you and me..." The clanging of a church bell made him snap to attention, then curse softly. "Dammit. I gotta go." He looked down at me, expression apologetic.

"That's alright," I said, still unsure if this whole thing was real, if I wasn't going to wake up a moment later, his kisses only a cruel figment of my imagination,. "I'll see you back at the Lodging House."

But I never did.

Messengers were sent along to me later in the evening, expressing Pete's sincere regret that he had serious business to attend to and wouldn't be home until the small hours of the morning, and that I should get my rest and could I possibly forgive him enough to spend time with him tomorrow?

I was upset, but not overly so. I went to bed early, consoling myself with dreams of Pete and I in whatever fanciful situation my over-active imagination could conjure up.

* * *

While I was in this liquid, swirling world of dreams, Pete was back on earth, leaning against a discarded barrel with hands jammed in his pockets on a caliginous dock, waiting somewhat impatiently for a business partner that had promised to meet him here. Grumbling something about the good-for-nothing bums that couldn't seem to tell time right from Harlem, Pete shifted, digging for a cigarette in his vest pocket.

His head was still bent downward, hair falling in his eyes, as footsteps sounded hollowly on the warped wood, approaching him slowly.

Pete looked up, cigarette dangling from his lips, squinting. "Aki? That you?"

It was. The girl smiled some as she advanced toward her leader, eyeglasses casting funny looking shadows on her smooth face. "Heya Spot."

Before Pete could open his mouth to let loose the question of Aki's curious appearance in this supposedly secret meeting, a hulking figure materialized behind her. Shaggy hair veiled dark, deep set eyes, and even in the dim light Pete could see the young man's face was lacerated with scars, like he had been attacked by some kind of animal in the past.

"You know what I've always hated about you, Spot?" Aki spoke again, folding her arms neatly over her chest. "You've got this great reputation as a cold-hearted sonovabitch. A real bastard, ya know?" The pair was drawing ever close to Pete as she continued, and as discreetly as he could Pete slipped his fingers around the handle of the knife concealed in his waistband.

"But really, you're nothing but a regular Joe. A sucker, just like a normal person. You love. You fear. You bleed. You aren't fit to be a leader of anythin', much less Brooklyn."

Pete's muscles were coiling into tight springs as her speech went on. This may have been unexpected, but it didn't mean he wasn't going to conquer it. Pete could handle unexpected. "It's been you all along, ain't it?" He asked slowly, smiling a little, just to prove she didn't scare him with her hard, bitter words and that behemoth backing her up.

Aki narrowed her eyes at him, but before she could open her mouth to respond the figure behind her stepped forward, the pistol clenched in his hand gleaming in the soft light. "You're smarter than I thought, Conlon. But it's too late. Game over. Now Brooklyn's gonna have the sorta king it deserves." His finger put pressure on the trigger, and the night exploded with noise and light. Aki stumbled backwards, reaching out for a crate to balance herself. Her eyes burned with gun smoke.

And when it all cleared, Pete lay in a puddle of crimson, a neat bullet hole through his chest. And as he took his last, ragged breath, his blood dripped through the cracks of the worn wooden bones of the dock, mixing with the black waters of the river that whispered and gurgled and sang like it was alive beneath him.

* * *

His funeral was surreal. But I suppose an even that we all thought would never happen couldn't have been anything _but_ surreal. It was a gorgeous day, unseasonably warm, with a high, round sun laughing down from the sky at our pain and sorrow as a small group gathered in the otherwise empty cemetery. The turnout—or lack thereof—had surprised me. It was only a few of us who were brave enough to appear at Pete's grave. Everyone else, I suppose, couldn't bring themselves to do it. Going to the funeral of Peter "Spot" Conlon would be like confirming something no one had the heart to believe. To many of the citizens of Brooklyn, his death was nothing more than a nasty rumor, utterly false and unbelievable, something Pete himself would soon clear up. Him? Dead? Never. That was impossible.

But I knew better. I could feel the rough wood of the coffin that held him as I laid my single daisy across the lid. There were no tears. Even there, in that terribly sad place, with a old priest hovering nearby like Death itself waiting to take Pete away from me permanently. Stepping back, I was sandwiched between Aki and the elusive Declan Doyle, a brute of a young man with scars crisscrossing half of his face. I had just met him that morning, and was not particularly impressed with his demanding, forceful nature. He reached up and patted my trembling shoulder.

"Holdin' up okay Rose?" He whispered as the priest began to speak. I nodded, swallowing.

"Just fine, Connor. Just fine."

His hand dropped from my shoulder. Above my head, a gaze bridged the gap between his eyes and Aki's own. They shared a small, confident smile for a split-second before returning their attention to the priest's words, alternately patting my back and stroking my hair like a pair of doting grandmothers.

Brooklyn was theirs. Why shouldn't they have been smiling?

To some people, a place can be so much more than just a simple location, a place on a map. Sometimes, to some people, a place can be like a friend, or a parent, or even a lover. Whether it is New York City or Chicago or Brooklyn or the Moon, some people can love a place to deeply, so passionately, that they pledge their loyalty to it as if it was a living, breathing thing, and then fight for it to the bitter end.

I am not one of those people. Pete was, but not me.

Brooklyn never got me under the spell that it casts on so many of its children. I never felt much passion for the place. I saw it for what it was: dirty, reeking of sweat and death and starvation and poverty, merciless and cruel. No matter how much you loved it, it never truly loved you back.

To me, Brooklyn meant Pete. And once Pete was gone, Brooklyn meant nothing.

That was why I left.


	10. 10

_To My Dearest Becky,_

_Or is it Sister Rebecca? I suppose it must be now—no one can be a Novice forever (though God knows I tried). I think about what your life must be like all the time now, in those bare convent rooms with the crucifixes on the wall and the silent meals that I could never get through without a giggle or two. I bet you're able to find joy in every minute of it. You always did._

_This letter is long past overdue. But I've been being a coward, afraid that you might not find it in your heart to forgive me for what I did to you all that time ago. I was stupid, and angry, and the words just came out before I knew what I was saying. I can only hope that just like that God you love so much, you too can forgive the people who treat you the worst. Namely, me. _

_I can picture you reading this letter right now: sitting on your perfectly made bed in your black habit, wooden Rosary beads clacking at your hip, with one hand pressed dramatically against your chest at the thought of me still actually being alive, and what's more, actually writing you a letter. _

_But my life now allows me to do such luxurious things like sit down and spend a few hours composing a letter to an old friend. And what might be still more surprising is that I actually have the patience to do it. Me, with patience. Can you imagine? Probably not, but the pace here in Charleston is so much more relaxed than New York, and it has changed me._

_Yes, you read right, I'm in Charleston. That's South Carolina, in case you forget all those geography lessons with Sister Bernadette. I've been living her for about two years, a guest-turned- permanent -resident in Jimmy Conlon's home. Jimmy, if you have forgotten, was Pete Conlon's older brother. The one who went missing from the streets of Brooklyn all that time ago. Turns out he ended up here, and is doing pretty well for himself. He's got a wife, too, a lovely woman named Anne, and a gorgeous baby daughter called Olivia. _

_It took me awhile to track him down. New York had hurt him in ways I can't begin to describe to you, and he never wanted to think of it–or the people in it–again. But you know me, stubborn as all hell. And with the help of a few old friends, I finally found an address for Charleston and decided to take the chance. I too had been hurt by New York, and had nothing left there. Well, except you of course. But you know I could have never gone back to the Sisters of Mercy. _

_And here's where you ask: 'What about Pete?", am I right? Well, his anniversary is coming up in a couple of weeks. Maybe if you're near Saint Mary's cemetery in Brooklyn you could stop by, check on him, leave a flower or two. I'm sure he would have loved you just as much as I do, had you ever met. Don't feel sad for me though, Becky. His face is always in my dreams, his voice constantly whispering in my ear, and every time Olivia cracks a smile I can see the uncle she'll never know. So really, he's still with me. Every moment of the day._

_Other than Pete, I try not to think of Brooklyn much. After he died things just fell apart there. I never really did trust the people who succeeded him as leaders in the first place, but when more and more 'accidents' started happening to those who were deeply loyal to my Pete, I knew it was time for me to go. So I packed up the few things I called my own and begged, borrowed, and stole money to buy a train ticket down here to South Carolina, praying that my decision was the right one._

_Now, after two years and some odd months later, I think it was the right one. After a long, long time, I'm sort of happy again, though there's always going to be that one little empty place that never stops aching. I can't really complain much about my life now…Jimmy and Anne and Olivia are the closest thing to a family that I'm ever going to have, and I cherish the time I spend with them. I'm going to school, too, and though my attendance record isn't particularly exemplary, I know it's making me a better person. There's this boy, too, named Ben. We've been spending a lot of time together, and I think I'm really starting to like him, Becky. He lives next door, and his bedroom window is directly across from mine and every night he plays me Mozart on the violin, and I swear, it's as close to heaven as I think I'm ever going to get. _

_I didn't intend for this letter to be so terribly long and sappy, but hopefully it didn't bore you. If good Sister Hades is still with you, please be so kind as to give her a swift kick in the shin for me, for old times sake. I hope you will write me back, because I miss you so much sometimes it hurts, and a letter would be almost as good as seeing you again. But I know you're probably busy, doing all sorts of holy things. _

_Keep saving those poor lost souls, Becky. God knows Brooklyn's got enough of them. _

_Your's Always,_

_Rose Nolan_


End file.
